


On a Scale From 1 to 10

by rosieeexox



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coffee Shops, F/M, Human Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, One Shot, Secrets, Werewolf Derek, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosieeexox/pseuds/rosieeexox
Summary: Stiles has a magical ability that he hopes shows him sexual compatibility when he sees the number 10 floating above a very attractive new co-worker's head.





	On a Scale From 1 to 10

**Author's Note:**

> I have not proof-read this at all so please ignore any mistakes unless they're glaringly obvious then please point them out to me. You guys have been commenting and leaving kudos on some old stuff I wrote so I decided to write this quick (lol it took me like 3 hours) one shot to show my appreciation. 
> 
> I know Teen Wolf is done (rip) but I'm still very much in love with dylan o'brien and sterek and also definitely scott mccall.

Some babies learn their alphabet first, but not Stiles. No, Stiles learned his numbers first. His first word was “Three.” His parents tried to teach him to count, but he would just point at them and yell “Two! Five! Three!” He did learn to count eventually. He also learned his alphabet. 

On his fifth birthday, he yelled “Eight!” at a kid that lived down the street. His name was Matt, and he proceeded to push Stiles into the pool. 

It was then that Stiles started to understand. He’s always seen little numbers pop up above people’s heads. All he has to do is concentrate a little and  _ pop!  _ there’s a number. But that day, as he was struggling to swim to the top of the pool, he finally realized what they meant. 

They were threat levels.

His newborn baby cousin was a 1, but soon grew up to be a 5. His mom was a 5 and his dad was a 2. Which was ironic because his dad was the Sheriff of Beacon Hills and his mom was an elementary school teacher. Stiles was a 3, a nice happy medium between the two. He was not at all embarrassed that most people are either a 4 or a 5 and that he was unsurprisingly below average in the danger department. Matt, who had pushed him into the pool, was an 8. Their junior year of high school, he was a 9. The day after Stiles saw that 9 floating above his head, he was arrested for the murder of three different missing girls.

Stiles assumed the threat levels ranged from 1 to 10. He’s never seen a 0. He’s also never seen a 10 but if that psycho Matt was only a 9, he’s not sure he wants to. 

He kept his “ability” under wraps. Nobody knows, not even Scott, his best friend. He met Scott in the second grade, a nice 3 floating above his head. Stiles decided Scott was going to be his best friend. He debated changing his mind in middle school when Scott showed up to school sporting a not so nice 6. He never mentioned it, never prodded at all. Some things are better left unknown. Besides, Scott couldn’t hurt a fly, no matter what his dumb number says. 

They both graduated from the local community college together and got a job working at a big publishing office. They worked their way up from interns to their own desks.

Stiles works in cover art design and Scott works in editing. Their respective desks are put in precisely the right spot so that they can see each other across the floor. 

Stiles steps into the elevator Monday morning, an iced coffee in hand. The elevator doors open and he walks right into a very tall man wearing a very soft sweater, spilling his iced coffee down the whole front of his pants. Thankfully, none of it spills on the idiot stranger who decided to stand right in front of the elevator doors. He audibly yelps when the number 10 appears above the man's head. 

“Cold coffee, eh?”

Stiles nods slowly and makes an insane decision. He extends his arm to initiate a handshake and stutters out his name. 

He tries to reason to himself on his walk to his desk, muttering about how there’s no way Ted Bundy was a only 9 and this guy is a 10. He’s got angry eyebrows and hard cheekbones, but that’s hardly dangerous. In a literal sense, anyway. Because that combination is definitely dangerous to Stiles’ sanity.

He makes it to his desk and places his now empty coffee cup on his desk. The guy introduced himself as Derek, which is a pretty harmless name if you ask him. Jeffrey? Definitely a serial killers name. But Derek? No way.

Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t immediately infatuated. Maybe this whole time his gift wasn’t sensing danger, it was sensing compatibility. Because he’s pretty sure him and Derek are soulmates. That would also mean him and Matt were pretty close to soulmates. Stiles shudders at the thought. Until Derek, Matt was the highest number he’d ever actually encountered.

He’s still trying to convince himself the next day when he walks into the building behind a very attractive brunette. He takes out his phone to text Scott to keep an eye out for her with a very suggestive array of emojis, when she turns around to ask him for directions. 

“I need to get a visitors pass and then find the elevator.” She says with a smile.

He stutters out the directions to the check in desk and then the elevator when he notices an 11 above her head. He just stares at it, blinking, convinced his eyes are just unfocused and this sweet, innocent girl is actually a 1. She thanks him again, looking slightly concerned, and makes her way to the desk.

He stands there for another minute, trying to shake his head into focus. Clearly his abilities are losing it. It’s probably the new ADHD meds he’s been taking. 

He wonders how he can bring up whether or not the side effects effect magic abilities to his doctor without getting thrown in the psych ward as he steps into the elevator. The doors are about to close when the brunette steps into the elevator after him. 

“What floor?” He asks nervously, not wanting to piss off the woman who cold apparently kill him in half a second. 

“Nine, please.” Oh, wow. They’re going to the same floor. Stiles feels less tense for some reason. 

“That’s where I work, are you new?” He’s not sure why he’s attempting to make conversation with someone who’s more dangerous than Ted freaking Bundy. Apparently his newly medicated brain is going with the hallucination explanation for today. 

“No I’m just visiting a friend. It’s his second day.” Oh no. “His name is Derek, you probably haven’t met him yet, he’s not very social.” 

“I met him yesterday, actually.” Naturally the two most dangerous people Stiles has ever met are friends. This is probably a  _ Mr. and Mrs. Smith _ situation and his publishing floor is about to be caught in the crosshairs.  

She looks at him suspiciously and opens her mouth like she’s about to ask him something. Thankfully, the elevator dings, signalling that they’ve reached their floor. The doors open and they go their separate ways. Derek works in editing. Stiles really needs to text Scott.

Fortunately, Scott appears in front of him and almost immediately interrogates him about the “most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in the entire history of the world” that just got off the elevator. Stiles would laugh at just how well he knows Scott’s taste if he wasn’t in the middle of a very large mental breakdown. 

Stiles waves him off and goes to his desk to Google Derek Hale. Nothing comes up except for his mom, Talia, owning some big insurance company. Maybe Derek is really smart or something so that makes him dangerous. Which would make the pretty brunette essentially a God but hey, anything is possible when you’re hallucinating. He makes another mental note to call his doctor.

Stiles takes his lunch break at a coffee shop down the block. He’s just settled down with his iced coffee and chicken panini when a laugh catches his attention. 

He spots Derek almost immediately, sitting with a whole group of people. The lowest number he sees is an 8. A pretty blonde is a 9 and she’s sitting on the lap of a very intimidating looking 8. At least there’s no more 11’s. There is, however, another 10 and Stiles assumes it’s Derek’s sister based on their looks. 

At this point Stiles is absolutely convinced he’s hallucinating. There’s no way this group of people is dangerous, and there’s  _ definitely  _ no way a group of people that hot would be compatible with him so maybe he’s wrong about this whole numbers thing. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s a social ranking. That would make sense why his is so low and this group of beautiful human beings is so high. 

He tries to stay calm the rest of the week at work. He mostly succeeds except Derek catches him staring at him a few times. And by a few times Stiles means a lot of times. He’s pretty sure he’s the one giving off a serial killer vibe at this point.

He needs a drink. He says as much to Scott, who immediately agrees. They get exceptionally hammered and Stiles debates telling him about his abilities. He’s thought about telling Scott over a dozen times since the second grade. The main thing holding him back is that he hasn’t figured out a way to say it that doesn’t make him sound completely insane.

They walk home together and Stiles stumbles the whole way.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to talk you all the way home, dude?” Scott offers.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m very good at walking I promise.”

They separate a few blocks from their house. Scott lives two blocks over from Stiles, another reason Stiles chose him to be his best friend all those years ago. 

He’s focusing very hard on walking when Stiles hears growling coming from an alley. He’s mentally preparing himself for all the things it could possibly be as he quietly walks towards it, hoping to break up a stray dog fight. He gets a little emotional at the thought of any stray animals fighting. He’s seriously debating adopting one of the troubled street dogs when he gets close enough to see where the growling is actually coming from.

Instead of a cute, dirty, lovable puppy, he sees one of the girls from Derek’s group at the coffee shop. She has claws and teeth and her face looks transformed like the middle stages of those Animorphs books him and Scott read as a kid. He somehow manages to stay quiet, save for the sharp intake of breath at the sight of just how sharp the fangs protruding from her mouth are. The blonde whips her head around and disappears down the other end of the alley before Stiles can blink. He swears he sees her chasing after a black shadow.

He finally makes it home and kicks off his shoes before stumbling up the stairs. At least his parents will chalk it up to his intoxication and not his vivid hallucinations. He writes several Post-It notes to call his doctor and sticks one on his door, his bedside lamp, his laptop, and finally, on the mirror in his bedroom. 

He looks at himself in the mirror and notices the number 7 floating above his head. He passes out before he can sufficiently process what he’s seeing. 

He wakes up the next morning feeling extremely hungover. He’s vaguely aware he’s on the floor and not in his bed. He’s barely blinking himself awake when he remembers all of his hallucinations last night. 

He slowly gets up and crawls to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. He almost passes out again when he sees the 7 still floating above his head. 

He fumbles with his phone and calls his doctor to schedule an emergency appointment. 

“What is the emergency?” Dr. Deaton asks as soon as Stiles enters his office. 

Stiles hopes he doesn’t look as manic as he feels because he should definitely be institutionalized right now, or at least sedated.

“I think my medication is causing me to hallucinate.”

“We just switched you to Concerta, correct?”

Stiles nods frantically.

“Well, hallucinations are definitely not a side effect. What kind of things are you seeing?”

He’s suddenly very aware of how stupid it was to walk into his psychologist’s office ranting about hallucinations. 

“Just, uh, normal things, you know.” Stiles laughs nervously. “Not that hallucinations are normal, I just mean, uh, like, weird stuff last night after the bar.” He hopes his vagueness isn’t incriminating his very obvious mental instability. 

“The bar, huh?” Deaton chuckles. “I think you just need to sleep it off, kid.”

Stiles mutters a thank you and trudges to his Jeep. He spends the short drive back to his house convincing himself that he’s sleep deprived. He remembers reading somewhere that sleep deprivation causes hallucinations and other various, weird, things. 

He gets home and takes a nap and doesn’t wake up until the sun is setting. He should probably eat something. He calls Scott who picks him up. They go to the diner. It’s where they always go when one of them, or both of them, need some help in the form of milkshakes. Seriously. Stiles is convinced the milkshakes have magical healing powers. 

That thought goes right out the window when Derek and Scary Alley Girl and the rest of the coffee shop crew arrive minutes later. Scott is up before Stiles can even  _ pretend  _ to deny this is happening. He’s vaguely aware Scott is inviting them, specifically the brunette who, through a weeks worth of stalking Scott found out is named Allison, to sit with them.

Scary Alley Girl introduces herself as Erica. He smiles weakly and tries not to stare at the 9 floating above her head. He surveys the crowd and notices that the other 10 is missing. The 8 introduces himself as Boyd and makes it  _ very  _ clear that him and Erica are dating; clearly mistaking his feat for some sort of flirtation.

Their food arrives and Scott is flirting with Allison embarrassingly hard. Stiles can’t even properly enjoy it because he’s too busy trying not to piss off the group of apparent serial killers Scott has unknowingly invited to sit with them at their favorite booth. He’s trying very hard to avoid eye contact with Erica, both because he doesn’t want to hallucinate again and also because he doesn’t want Boyd to punch his face off. In an attempt to not look at Erica, he ends up staring at Derek. Naturally. In his defense, staring at Derek is the least suspicious thing he can do, since that’s pretty much all he’s done this last week at work. He feels eerily calm, and is about to offer Derek his milkshake for Derek to dip his fries into - forcing himself to ignore  _ that  _ innuendo, when Scott gets his attention.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet over there, buddy. You good?”

He nods as casually as possible. “Yeah. My, uh, my new meds have been making me drowsy and I think they’re making me hallucinate. I probably just need to sleep.” He laughs reassuringly. 

He notices Derek twitch and looks up to find Erica staring at him.

“We should probably head home, then.” Scott offers, seemingly content with just having gotten Allison’s number. 

They get up to leave and Stiles totally doesn’t turn around to look at Derek one last time before he walks out of the diner. He waits until he’s in the car and stares at Derek through the window as Scott drives away. He might be okay with having a serial killer for a boyfriend. As long as that boyfriend is Derek and he doesn’t kill anybody he knows or cares about. Specifically himself, but also Scott. And his parents.

He sleeps the whole rest of the weekend and wakes up feeling refreshed on Monday, convinced he’s slept away his hallucinations. He feels a little less sure, still seeing that 7 floating above his head, but maybe it’s because his mental instability makes him dangerous. There are several movies Stiles has seen that would back up this theory. 

He’s barely made it to his floor, opting for the stairs today, when Derek is dragging him to the nearest supply closet.

“God, I hope this is under sexual circumstances and not murderous ones.” He blurts out nervously, not even caring that those might be his final words.

“So you do know, then.” Derek sighs.

“Please don’t kill me and dump my body in the river. My dad’s the Sheriff and he’s  _ really  _ good at his job.”

“Stiles, we’re not a threat to you.”

“What even  _ are  _ you?”

“We’re werewolves.” He says it so nonchalant that Stiles almost forgets to freak out. “Not all of us, uh, just me and Erica. And Boyd. And my sister. And my mom. And -”

“A pack of werewolves, definitely not threatening at all. At least that explains your numbers.”

“What?”

Shit.

“I can see numbers.” Stiles says slowly. He’s never said it out loud before, it feels weird saying it out loud. “Ever since I was little I saw these little numbers pop up above people’s heads. They range from 1 to 10, I think. 1 being innocent and 10 being well, uh. Let’s just say Ted Bundy was a 9.”

“So you can see how dangerous a person is, basically.”

Of course Derek isn’t surprised by any of this. He’s a freakin’ werewolf.

“You’re a 10.” He blurts out, for no reason whatsoever other than to break the oncoming uncomfortable silence. 

Derek lets out a surprised noise. 

“Allison is an 11.” He offers again, causing Derek to chuckle. 

“That makes sense.” 

“I won’t tell anyone about you if you don’t tell anyone about me.” Stiles says, his voice wavering slightly. Derek could kill him right now and probably dispose of his body before anyone even noticed he was missing. 

“Deal, but I’ll have to confirm to the rest of my pack that you know.” 

Stiles nods and then Derek is gone, leaving him in the supply closet alone and feeling way too many things at once.

The rest of the week goes by pretty uneventful. Scott talks his ear off about Allison and Stiles has to stop himself from saying anything. Derek didn’t say Allison was a werewolf, which is good. But that just means she’s probably something worse, which is bad. All of this new information doesn’t stop Stiles from staring at Derek. If anything, it’s making him stare  _ more. _

Derek asks him casually if he wants to hangout after work on Friday. Because it’s Derek, Stiles can’t say no. Which is how he finds himself in Derek’s living room surrounded by a bunch of 8-11’s. Allison winks at him when he walks through the door, which makes him feel oddly calm. 

“What are you doing in Beacon Hills, anyway?” Stiles asks, to no one in particular. He’d been mingling for the better part of the night and decided it was time to get down to business. It’s Erica who breaks the silence.

“That night you saw me, I was hunting a Windigo.” 

“A what?” 

“They eat human flesh.” 

Stiles laughs then looks around the room of serious faces. “Oh.” 

“Don’t worry, I killed it.” Erica smiles, flashing her fangs. 

“Derek,” Allison says slowly, “Why don’t we bring Stiles with us to the warehouse tomorrow night?”

“Warehouse?” Stiles asks, somewhat intrigued.

“No.” 

“They all wear masks,” Allison continues, ignoring Derek’s clipped response. “So we can’t identify which one is in charge.”

“Allison.” Derek warns.

“But it’d probably be the one with the highest number, right?” 

“Oh.” Stiles says. “I didn’t realize Derek told you, uh, everything.”

“Oops.” Allison says, sounding only slightly sorry. 

“It’s fine.” Stiles assures her. “I just haven’t told anyone about my abilities. I mean, I told Derek, obviously, but that’s it. Kind of weird to have people know about this thing I’ve kept secret for so long.”

“Scott doesn’t know?” Erica asks, her voice suggests something that causes Derek to growl.

Stiles is suddenly very aware of the situation he’s in; surrounded by werewolves and whatever the hell Allison is. But that’s the least of his problems because it’s obvious Derek doesn’t want him around, despite him being the one that invited him here. He catches Derek looking at him for a split second before he looks away.

“I’m gonna go.” Stiles decides. Nobody tries to stop him, which he’s thankful for, because there was a small part of him that thought he was about to get murdered.

He doesn’t show up to the warehouse the following night, despite Allison having texted him the address. 

At work on Monday Derek greets him with a muffin and Stiles takes it wordlessly. He doesn’t ask about the warehouse. He doesn’t say anything, actually. All week. It’s clear Derek wants to be some sort of friend to Stiles, but Stiles isn’t having it.

Stiles is trying to enjoy his lunch on Thursday when Derek walks into the coffee shop and sits down right across from Stiles.

“Can I help you?”

“Cora wants to know if you’ll come to her birthday party this weekend.”

“Your sister Cora?”

Derek nods.

“Are you going to be there?”

Derek nods again.

“Then no thanks.”

“I told you we’re not a threat to you, Stiles.”

Stiles laughs. “You think I’m scared of you?” He scoffs. “I’m not scared of you and your dumb friends. Actually, that’s not fair. I kind of like your friends.”

“Did I do something? Do you not like blueberry muffins?”

“This is not about the muffins, Derek.”

“Then what?”

There’s no way one man can be so oblivious. Stiles is convinced there’s some sort of underlying joke here, where Derek is waiting for Stiles to admit his true feelings so he can kill him, or worse - laugh at him. He decides it’s better to rip the bandaid off now, while he still has 15 minutes left of his lunch break to get his shit back together after this soon to be painful rejection slash possible murder. 

“I did a lot of research after I found out what you were and I thought you invited me to your house because you wanted me to join your pack. And then Allison invited me on your supre secret warehouse mission and you vetoed me. So I don’t know what the whole point of inviting me to all these things is if you don’t want me to actually be a part of anything.”

“You want...to join our pack?”

“Of course I do.” Stiles says, feeling a little hysterical. “I finally found people I fit in with that I don’t have to hide anything from. Why would I not want to be a part of that?” 

“I didn’t want you to come to the warehouse because I didn’t want you to get hurt.” Derek admits. 

“Just because I’m not a big, strong, scary werewolf doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself. I have a 7 floating above my head for Christ’s sake!” 

“I know.” Derek says, taking a step closer to Stiles. “I mean, not about you being a 7, but about you being able to take care of yourself. I mean, you looked Erica in the eye after seeing her while she was half shifted. That’s pretty impressive.”

“I think that’s why I jumped from a 3 to a 7.” Stiles says, a little proud of himself, before remembering he’s supposed to be mad at the very tall, very attractive man standing in front of him.  

“I know this sounds like a dumb question,” Stiles starts. “But are you about to kiss me or murder me, because I thought we were past-” 

Derek kisses him. In the middle of the coffee shop. He swears he hears the cashier clap.

 

They eventually break the news to Scott who goes white, but seems to regain his composure when Allison assures him that she’s human, just a very, very skilled hunter. Stiles compares her to Deadshot and Scott goes white again. He tries to reassure him by letting him know he’s a 6, but that backfires when he has to tell Scott that now he’s a 7. And that Allison is an 11. 

 

Stiles eventually meets Talia, who’s a 14 and Derek chuckles when Stiles whispers it to him at dinner. The dinner to celebrate him joining the pack. Officially.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos keep me going :)


End file.
